


Suddenly, You Melt My Soul

by oneforyourfire



Series: *Miracles in December* [1]
Category: C-Pop, Chinese Actor RPF, EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, idk what im fucking doing with my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8829202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: And Tao, right now—mouth pressed to the warm, wet, soft, soft skin of Yifan’s bare, inked arm—is winning.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Torontok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torontok/gifts).



> title from the [criminally sexy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ell7q83gQks)

There’s this little noise that Yifan makes when Tao kisses his tattoo, somewhere between a hiccup and a whimper, much breathier and higher and more vulnerable than any sound he normally makes.

It’s weak and raw and painfully in the moment, and it means that Tao has _won_.

And Tao, right now—mouth pressed to the warm, wet, soft, soft skin of Yifan’s bare, inked arm—is winning.

He mouths higher, straining to taste more, the curve of Yifan’s shoulder, the quiver of his throat, and his gege’s lips part, his body trembles, his towel falls to the floor. Yifan shivers, hiccups or whimpers or moans and _loses_ to Tao, gives in to Tao—even if he’d grumbled about the cramp in his leg, the three hours of sleep he’d had the night before, even if stress and fatigue sit heavy in his shoulders and paint dark beneath his eyes.

Yifan is freshly showered and warm and wet and willing and vulnerable, and Tao has won—him.

Tao loves the way that Yifan’s body stains with arousal, how his dark eyes hood and his breath shortens and his skin flushes and his body tenses in aborted desire. And the way that Yifan’s hands tighten on Tao’s shoulders, the way his pulse races against Tao’s skin, the warning, wanting way he breathes Tao’s name, those serve as proof that Tao has won, too. 

And there’s power in this, the youngest getting his leader to twist to his whims, winning, claiming his prize. Something hot and proud swells inside of Tao, trickles thick and demanding through his limbs, strains the front of his own towel when he presses even closer, brushes his mouth to the corner of Yifan’s jaw as he drags his palm along the smooth planes of Yifan’s soft, golden skin, too, claiming and convincing in that way, too. 

He traces higher, higher—over the too sharp jut of Yifan’s hipbones, the smooth indent of his stomach, the ripple of his ribs, the pucker of his nipples—until Yifan’s fingers are around his wrists, completely halting his movement. Tao squeezes his shoulders instead, and Yifan exhales shakily, tilts his head down as his own hands slide towards Tao. 

Tao is warm and wet from the shower, too, and he quivers at the rush of hot air near his temple, the breathy vulnerability of that small, secret sound again as Yifan swallows heavily, hesitating still even as his palms settle on Tao’s cheeks, even as his nose brushes Tao’s forehead. 

I’ve won, Tao wants to tell him. I’ve beat you. You know I’ve won, gege. Don’t fight it. Let me. Let me. 

“Tao,” Yifan warns or groans or cajoles, but his fingers are still on Tao, warm and cradling, thumb yearning and tender and slow along Tao’s cheekbone then over his parted lips and throat. 

_Just sleeping_ , Tao had promised in the shower, between small chaste kisses and playful swipes of his bright blue shower pouf. _Just hold me. I don’t like being alone. Just love me and hold me and treasure me_. 

Yifan's holding him, but Tao knows it’s not how either of them want, knows that he’s won and that Yifan is aching to kiss him, touch him, fuck him, too. 

“Duizhang,” Tao breathes back, popping his lip, blinking up at him through his eyelashes in false demureness, thinly-veiled temerity, and Yifan’s face pinches with pained arousal. 

His eyes fall to Tao’s mouth and stay there, but his hands continue to wander. They trace along Tao’s shoulders, skip down his spine, tiptoe to knead into his ass, his warm fingers fanning before squeezing. Tao shudders at the touch, even as he pushes up into it. And his towel joins Yifan’s on their dorm floor. 

"Touch me, gege," he whispers, and Yifan does—again, tilts him enough for their bare cocks to meet. 

They hiss in unison at the fleeting, searing contact. 

_Want me. Have me. Duizhang, gege, hyung_. 

Tao has to tilt his head up to kiss him, strains his arms to drag him down far enough, and Yifan follows so quickly, admits—finally—defeat. 

Yifan’s bigger than him, broader, older, and Tao melts into the kiss right from the start, into the warmth of his soft, damp skin, the sharp spicy musk of his body wash, the softness and mintiness of his wet hair, the heated want in every fluid push of his tongue. And Yifan melts into him too, his breathing gorgeously labored, hands wandering but intent, kisses wet and hot and deep and dirty.

Dizzy with desire, Tao grinds forward with a wanting sound that has Yifan pulling away to groan into the column of his throat, whispering soft, sweet praises into the skin. Tao tugs on his hair, tugs him back, and Yifan’s breathing is even more labored then, his hands more intent, his kisses wetter, hotter, deeper, dirtier. 

"Taozi" he whispers, and Tao likes how his voice sounds all rough and ruined with desire, wants it even rougher, even more ruined. He nips at Yifan’s bottom lip, tipping forward to grind against his hip in the next breath, moaning about how he wants it. How they both want it. Don't they.

Yifan presses him bodily into his mattress, and there's strength there, pride and want there, the stress and fatigue and impotence bleeding out of Yifan’s body as he tosses Tao back onto the sheets. 

Tao melts into that, too, lolling his head back but arching his hips in desperate invitation, gliding one hand down to stroke himself fluidly, too. “Ge,” he says, and Yifan shudders around a moan or a curse, wobbles forward to press their mouths together again.

Want me. Have me. Duizhang, gege, hyung, he urges, but this time out loud. 

Yifan's fingers close around Tao’s wrists, pin him down, and Tao shivers in hazy, hot anticipation, rolling his neck back and arching his spine like Yifan likes, whispering his name like he likes too, making himself pliant and soft and loose and beautiful because yes he’s _won_ but Yifan needs this from him.

And Tao can be his stress relief, he’s told him. Tao can be his safe, soft thing, because Yifan is his safety, too, his ge and his leader and his love. 

Yifan noses at his throat as he settles atop him, his breathing labored and cock hard and touches shiveringly intent. He nips at it between succulent, searching kisses, his breathing harsh and wet and hot, harsher, wetter, hotter yet when Tao writhes deliberately against Yifan’s bare stomach. 

Though Tao is younger, smaller, he could fight back if he wanted, pin Yifan instead, or else make him work for this submission, but it's sweeter like this, hotter like this. And Yifan groans in appreciation against his throat, fits his cock just right and hot and hard against his.

He cages him in like this, pins him down, and Tao lets himself be caged, lets himself be pinned, lets himself be what Yifan needs and what Tao wants.

Yifan rocks forward into him, smooth and dirty and hot, and the friction has Tao’s body trembling, his fingers spasming to scrape Yifan’s hands, his hips canting up in a silent plea for _more_. And Yifan pulls back, grinds forward again and again and again. 

Throat bared, body taut with pleasure, Tao loses himself in the sensation, the heat, the power, the pleasure, whimpering as he rocks forward into the pressure, drowns in the ferocity of Yifan’s sloppy, heated kiss.

The pleasure mounts and mounts and mounts, surging higher and higher, curling tighter and tighter with Yifan’s every breathless hiccup-whimper, with the exquisite heat of every dragging fuck forward, with every mindless bruising spasm of fingers around his Tao’s restrained wrists.

It feels like drowning, feeling like dying when the pleasure finally crests, quakes and tears and burns through him with a violence that his his entire body locking. And Yifan is following immediately afterwards, making that sound again, weak and raw and painfully in the moment as he comes in pulses against Tao’s skin.

And Tao has won.

**Author's Note:**

> #EmbracetheNotp2k16 ????
> 
> pls just know that i did my best


End file.
